


Sugar Magnolia, Blossoms Blooming

by trashcangimmick



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Crossdressing, Drinking, F/M, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Issues, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Trans Character, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 07:55:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20404279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashcangimmick/pseuds/trashcangimmick
Summary: Billy likes to wear makeup, even if that’s not what boys are supposed to do.





	Sugar Magnolia, Blossoms Blooming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neonlaynes (Koru)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koru/gifts).

> Billy is trans but doesn’t have the language for it, so I use he/him pronouns through the story. And he would probably consider sex with men gay sex at this point, thus the M/M tag.

When Billy’s mom stops coming home, she doesn’t leave much behind. Neil throws most of what remains away. Billy rescues a few things from the bathroom cabinet while Neil is busy going through the closet. Two tubes of red lipstick, some dark eyeliner, and a compact of pale pink rouge. He hides them in a shoebox, underneath the baseball cards his grandfather keeps giving him for Christmas. 

***

Sometimes, right after Neil leaves for the bar and surely won’t be back for a while, Billy takes the makeup out. He stands in the bathroom and smears the waxy red on his mouth. He traces dark circles around his eyes. Brushes the pink powder across his cheeks. 

It doesn’t feel good, exactly. It makes his chest tight. It makes him miss his mother and feel closer to her all at once. 

She used to let him play with her makeup when Neil wasn’t around. He’s just continuing the tradition by himself. 

***

Eventually he uses up the eyeliner, sharpens it down to a tiny stub he can’t hold onto anymore. The blush becomes discolored with age after a couple years. He keeps the tubes of lipstick, even though they’re gummy and not really useable anymore. 

He’s twelve the first time he steals makeup from the drugstore. He can’t _ buy _it. He’s a boy. He’s not going to have that interaction with some judgy cashier. It might be worse if he were caught stealing it, but he doesn’t get caught. He’s good at shoplifting. When Neil spends too much money on whiskey and forgets to buy groceries, it’s the only reason that Billy eats. He steals lunch meat and candy from the supermarket. 

He’s gotten a lot better at putting on makeup. He knows that eyeliner is supposed to go on the inside of the lid. That you suck in your cheeks and trace the line of bone with blush. He even starts playing around with eye shadow. 

Billy is pretty. His mom used to tell him that. With his soft blonde hair, and big blue eyes, he can be pretty like a girl is pretty. Especially with his face all done up.

***

Max and Susan barge into Billy’s life a couple weeks after his thirteenth birthday. He knew Neil was dating some slut. Neil is always dating some slut. Billy would have appreciated a little warning before two new people moved into the house and he was suddenly sharing his bedroom with a nine-year-old girl. 

“OK. Here’s how it’s gonna be,” Billy says day two, when Max hasn’t unpacked and there are boxes everywhere. 

Billy’s bed is on one side, shoved in the corner. The closet door nudges up against the end of it. Max’s bed is on the other side. Right underneath the window. There’s like, five feet of space between them. 

“All this.” He gestures to everything that’s been feverishly pushed onto one side of the room. “All this is my shit. You don’t touch it. Ever.”

“Yeah. OK. We’re sharing the closet though, right?”

“Like fuck we are. It’s on my side.”

“What do you want me to do? Just throw my clothes on the floor?”

“I don’t care what you do. The closet is full. Of my clothes. Ask your bitch mother for a dresser or something.”

“You and your dad are mean. I don’t want to be here.” She crosses her arms. Face tinting red with anger. 

Billy almost sympathizes with her. It’s a shit situation. Then she goes running to Mommy to complain. Billy has to share the closet. 

Max spends the next few weeks being a fucking snitch. She tells on him for smoking in their room. For getting drunk after their parents go to bed. For coming home at two in the morning and waking her up by accident. 

She keeps narcing right up until the first time she sees Neil shove Billy down the stairs because she said she smelled something skunky. She’s wide eyed. Like she can’t believe what just happened. Neil had been on good behavior, with the new live-in girlfriend. But Neil hates stoners. He hates hippies. He hates pot. He snapped. 

The tattling tapers off after that. After she sees Billy get black eyes, and busted lips, and the belt comes out because Billy was _ rude _to Susan. 

Before long, there’s a wedding. Max and Billy still don’t like each other. It’s annoying to share space with someone. It means Billy’s almost never alone in the house and can’t take out the shoebox he still keeps under his bed. But it’s better to play it safe with that kind of thing. 

Sometimes after everyone else has long since gone to bed, he’ll sneak into the bathroom for a little private time. He’ll put on the lip-liner and mascara. Pretend he’s getting ready for a night out on the town.

Maybe in another life, he was born a girl. He could look like this all the time. He could wear dresses, and high heels, and might even have tits to show off. Maybe he’d be sneaking out to meet some boy, who would tell him he’s pretty, and kiss him until the cherry lip gloss all rubbed away. 

He can’t keep the fantasy for long. Has to wash it off before he goes to bed. But those thirty minutes or so of being someone else are precious. 

***

When he’s fifteen, Billy dates a girl who works at the Clinique counter at Macy's. Jennifer. She’s a year older, with bobbed brown hair, thick thighs, and a sweet, round face. She likes that he’ll let her practice putting makeup on him. He likes that she’s easy. 

When her parents aren’t home, she’ll sit him down at her vanity and go to town. Bright pink and blue eyeshadow. Green and yellow flared out to his temples. Heavy penciled-in eyebrows and bright purple lips. She’ll tease his curls to incredible volumes and set it with hairspray. She’ll put him in a tube top and take polaroids that he never lets her keep. She says he looks like Madonna. 

She’s always real wet when she bounces on his dick. Her pussy is so tight. She comes easy when he rubs his thumb across her clit. 

She tells Billy he’s beautiful when his face is all painted up and he’s deep inside her. He pretends that’s not the thing that always pushes him over the edge. 

***

Billy never has trouble finding people who want to touch him. 

Girls like that he’s dangerous. They’re attracted to the reckless instability like flies to sticky paper. Billy’s always drunk, or high, reeking of cigarettes and cheap cologne. He’s a bad boy, with bad intentions. He’s got a reputation for skilled hands and a nice dick. 

He’s not always interested in playing the archetype. Sometimes, he strolls along the boardwalk in a tank top and dolphin shorts, long blonde hair pulled up in a sideways ponytail. He’ll get stoned with surf rats and put out a vibe that maybe one of them notices. Maybe he ends up on his knees underneath the pier at low tide, cock in his mouth, hand tangled in his hair. The surf rats always taste like salt. They call him baby. They usually won’t blow him, but they’ll jerk him off while they mouth at his neck. 

If it’s a day where none of them take the bait, he’ll go to _ that _beach as the sun is setting. He’ll let older men feed him wine and compliments. He’ll lie back on a blanket and spread his legs. 

They’ll tell him how gorgeous and perfect he is. In the moment, it feels so good. He doesn’t focus on the wrinkled hands, or balding heads. He just closes his eyes and revels in being full. Being wanted. 

When he gets home and sobers up, Billy hates himself. The shame of it never stops him from going back for another taste. 

***

Hawkins is awful. Steve Harrington isn’t. You know. After the couple months of annoying the absolute shit out of each other, which culminates in a fistfight and Billy getting throat fucked two days later. 

Steve is a lot more tolerable after they start hooking up. Steve calls Billy _ sweetheart _ . Doesn’t balk the first time Billy leaves lipstick marks on his cock. He talks about how _ wet _ Billy is when they’re fucking, even though it’s lube that Steve put there himself. 

On some level, Steve seems to get it. They don’t discuss it. They just do shit. And then when it’s over, everything goes back to normal. That’s the way Billy prefers it. He’s not one to examine things too closely. There’s no point until he moves far away from Neil as he can get. 

Steve’s house is usually empty. Billy likes to go there. Because even if he and Max don’t share a room anymore, any roof and four walls that belong to Neil will always feel claustrophobic. Steve gave him a key, which was terrible judgment. Billy could rob him and his rich parents blind. He doesn’t, though. He just uses it to let himself in when there are no cars in the driveway. Steve plays hockey on Saturdays. Billy grew up by a beach. He doesn’t know how to fucking iceskate. 

The upstairs bathroom at Steve’s house is big. There’s a big marble countertop. Vanity lights around the three-paneled mirror. The right and left panels fold out so Billy can see what he’s doing from pretty much all angles. 

When he first arrives, he takes a long, hot shower. Luxuriates in the fact that nobody is banging on the door, asking when he’ll be done. He conditions his hair, using the fancy shit that could plausibly belong to Steve’s mom, but also might be Steve’s. Then he uses the hot curlers that are definitely Mrs. Harrington’s. He feels like a housewife as he stands in front of the mirror, cigarette between his lips, waiting for his hair to dry around the little velvet-covered metal rollers pinned to his head. 

He brings his own makeup. It’s safer to keep in the car than anywhere Neil might stumble across it. He could plausibly claim it belonged to Max, when they lived back at the old house. After the first couple times they moved, and Billy got too old to share a room, the issue became more complicated. _ I dunno, some chick probably left it _, is the only excuse he has. He’s not sure how many times it will work. Neil goes through his stuff constantly. 

Billy does his foundation first. Avoiding the fuzz on his upper lip. He wants to shave it off sometimes, but Neil would grouse about how _ a man should have facial hair. _Next his eyes. Thick black lines. Cotton-candy pink shadow on the lid with a soft purple blended upwards. He pencils in his eyebrows, going over the fresh scar that Neil’s wedding ring cut not too long after they got to Hawkins. He puts on the mascara. Does his cheeks, carefully accentuating the bone structure he inherited from his mother. 

He always does the lips last. He fills them in with velvety red lipstick. Finishes it off with just a little gloss to make it shiny. 

Then he takes the curlers out. Sets the fresh ringlets with some hairspray. His face has changed as he’s gotten older. His jaw is too angular. He’s gotten too muscular. His shoulders are too broad for him to look like Madonna. 

He’s still pretty, though. 

He puts away the curlers and saunters into Steve’s bedroom. Sometimes he’ll bring clothes. Things he’s stolen from thrift stores and shopping malls over the years. Tonight it’s a lacy black camisole and a pleated white skirt that’s patterned with cherries. It barely falls halfway down his thighs. He settles into Steve’s bed, looking out the window onto the dark street below. 

He gets bored of waiting pretty fast. He grabs the lube from under the mattress, squeezes some onto his fingers. He didn’t bother with underwear. He takes his time, just rubbing against his hole until the first finger slides in easy. He’s usually easy when he feels so sexy. When he’s drowning in the fantasy of it all. He runs his other hand up his flat stomach, over his chest, rubbing against a nipple. He gasps, high and breathy even though there’s nobody around to hear it. 

Two fingers feel good. Three feel even better. He probably uses too much lube. Its leaking out of him, dripping onto his skirt. He likes being slick. It’s decadent. Delicious. He’s buttery smooth on the inside. Fever warm and so tight. 

He sees headlights approaching. 

Billy always parks a couple blocks away. He closed the bedroom door behind him, on the off chance Steve’s parents came home. He wipes his hand off on some tissues, stands up and walks to the window. He can see it’s Steve’s car parked in the driveway. Steve gets out, still wearing his jersey and shoulder pads. Billy smiles. 

He keeps facing out the window. He knows he cuts a nice figure from behind. Not quite an hourglass. But close enough. 

The door creaks open. Billy glances over his shoulder. Steve lets his duffel bag drop on the floor, and is across the room immediately. Hands on Billy’s waist. Kissing his neck. 

“Damn, baby. You look so good.”

“Of course I do.” Billy keeps his voice soft and breathy. The way he hopes it might sound if his vocal chords had never gotten thicker from puberty and the surge of testosterone it brought. 

Steve smells like sweat. His fancy, spicy deodorant is struggling to cover up the stench. It’s not entirely off putting. Billy kind of likes it. Reminds him of how they bump against each other during basketball practice. Bold physical contact that nobody else thinks twice about. 

He lets Steve spin him around. He lets Steve kiss him and smear the makeup he worked so hard on. He might squeal just a little when Steve picks him up and carries him over to the bed. 

He definitely spreads his legs wide open like a slut while he watches Steve strip off his jersey and get out of his pads. His undershirt, and pants, and boxers pile on the floor. Then Steve’s naked, full weight on top of Billy. They’re grinding together, hot and desperate. 

Steve gets a hand between Billy’s legs. He groans. 

“Damn. Already so wet for me.”

“I wanna be on top.”

Steve smiles. He lets Billy flip them over. Billy straddles Steve’s hips, skirt falling down to cover him, even though it’s still slightly tented. He grabs the base of Steve’s cock and holds it steady as he sinks onto it. 

The stretch of it always burns. Steve’s big. Billy likes it. He likes being full. Having so much of somebody inside him. The discomfort stirs a strange impulse that just makes him want more. He manages to get Steve all the way in on that first slide. It’s a thing that’s taken practice. When they first started fucking, Billy could only take him about halfway. 

“Fuck.” Steve grips Billy’s thighs. Tight enough to dimple the skin and turn it white. “Fuck, baby, feel amazing.”

Billy smiles. He rolls his hips, bracing his hands on Steve’s chest. He can’t help moaning. Steve’s so deep inside him. It makes Billy dizzy. He feels feverish. Like his body knows it wasn’t designed to withstand this and it’s pulling every alarm bell it can. 

Steve starts moving too. Thrusting into him. Billy’s breath hitches. He’s split open. Rubbed raw. He’s so turned on he’s leaking. The wet noises of their bodies rolling together just make him go faster. He wants it to be louder. 

“You’re beautiful,” Steve groans. “Love when you get all dolled up for me.”

It’s not for Steve. Not really. It’s all right if he thinks that, though. It’s nice to have someone who appreciates the effort. 

It’s nice to be called beautiful. 

Billy’s legs are getting shaky. He’s really bouncing on Steve’s cock. Fast and hard. Making it hit the hot spots. The sensation is overwhelming. Billy’s not quite on the edge of coming, but he’s getting close. 

Steve slides one of hands up further, underneath the hem of the skirt, and wraps it around Billy’s cock. He strokes it slow, in counterpoint to the harsh rhythm they’ve worked up to. He rubs his thumb right under the head of Billy’s dick. 

“You gonna come, sweetheart?” Steve’s panting. Face flushed. Staring up at Billy like he’s still hungry in the midst of a feast. 

“Yeah,” Billy breathes. “Fuck.”

Steve jerks him off a little quicker. Fucks him just a little harder. Billy’s there. Shuddering. Squeezing around Steve’s cock. Steve groans and ruts into him, losing all sense of tempo, just chasing the friction as fast as he can. 

Billy likes it when Steve comes inside him. He likes being a mess. He doesn’t lift off right away. He savors it. 

Eventually he moves over, flops down on his back. He tells Steve to give him a goddamn cigarette and a beer. Steve disappears downstairs to the refrigerator. Billy takes the opportunity to escape to the bathroom and wash his face. He borrows Mrs. Harrington’s makeup remover. Some of the mascar still clings to his lashes. His lips are still a little pink. He’ll do a better job later. 

He strips off the skirt and the camisole as he walks back into Steve’s room. Steve is waiting on the bed with the beers and a pack of his bitch cigarettes. Turkish Royals. There’s no accounting for taste. The window is already open. Billy sits near the edge of the bed and blows the smoke out into the cool night air after he lights up. 

Steve sits next to him, draping an arm around his waist. 

“You don’t always have to change right away.” Steve says so casual. “Or like, don’t feel like you need to on my account. If you wanna keep that stuff on.”

“Fuck off, Harrington. I don’t do anything on your account.” Billy doesn’t inflect the usual venom. He’s too fucked out and happy to be mad about much. 

Steve hands him a cold beer. Billy pops the tab and sips it. 

“Well. You look good dressed up, is all I’m saying.”

“OK?” Billy blows out a smoke ring. 

Steve kisses him on the shoulder. Billy lets out a long suffering sigh. 

“You’re also nicer when you’re wearing lipstick.” Steve has the nerve to chuckle. 

“You looking for a fight or something? I’ll punch you in the goddamn jaw.”

“This is exactly what I’m talking about.”

Billy elbows him. Steve doesn’t pull away. In fact, he presses closer. He mouths at Billy’s neck. Kisses his cheek. 

“You’re so clingy.” Billy downs about half the beer in one gulp. 

“Yeah. Horny too. Bet you’re still wet.”

“Christ.” Billy’s dick twitches.

It’s kind of wild how fast Steve can get hard again. Like, he already has a full-on boner. 

“I’ll do all the work, baby.”

“Whatever.” Billy slugs down the rest of the beer. Drops the smoldering end off his cigarette into the can. 

He lets Steve push him back on the mattress and fuck into him again. It feels so good. 

Maybe next time, Billy will leave the makeup on for round two. Maybe. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from ‘Sugar Magnolia’ by the Grateful Dead. 
> 
> Check out flippyspoon’s or my [ tumblr](https://trashcangimmick.tumblr.com/) and search ‘Harringrove for RACIES’ to find the Deets if you’re interested in it.


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